Page 43 of Conquer
Chapter Thirteen
It isn’t until Vadim parks in an unfamiliar driveway—one barricaded behind a high stone wall and wrought iron gate—that I recognize the stout, clinical gray mansion as our new home.
In so many ways, it’s not as impressive as the last.
Dour and relatively plain, it lacks the charm of the beautiful house overlooking the cove—instead, commanding a ruthlessly manicured plot of land cast in shadow by that massive wall spanning the entire perimeter. Once inside, I find the décor seriously lacking. Or, as my mother would say, “Where is the sunlight, darling?”
Without the aid of bay windows to provide said natural light, or a view of a body of water, Vadim’s dour color scheme creates an almost prison-like atmosphere. One bolstered by the strange men I spot patrolling various sections of the property.
Gone are the days of Ena’s out of sight, out of mind approach to security, it seems.
We find the old bodyguard himself sitting at a square table in a spacious dining room at the center of the floor plan. In addition to his typical battered leather jacket, he sports a new, unusual accessory draped around his neck—a bright pink feathery boa. Across from him sits Magda, her gaze intent on what looks to be a pink tea set arranged in between them. Carefully, Magda lifts an empty cup and places it before Ena.
“You drink it,” she says as if narrating a play.
He nods. “Okay.”
“And now you’re poisoned,” Magda says, deadpanned. “So…you have to die.”
Ena shrugs. “Okay.”
“That’s it?” Magda purses her lips, fighting to maintain her serious frown. Despite her best attempts, a smile breaks through within seconds. “You’re supposed to bedead,” she exclaims, throwing her hands into the air. “Try making death noises or something! Play pretend. Let’s go again—”
“It looks like the queen needs to work on her poisoning skills,” I call from the doorway as Vadim comes up behind me.
Magda looks up, her smile unfurling in full. “Tiffy!”
“Easy,chérie,” Vadim scolds gently as she races over and snatches my hand, tugging me to her makeshift royal tea party. “She’s still very sore.”
“Never too sore for palace intrigue,” I say, forcing a grin as Magda ushers me into the chair beside Ena.
Once she reclaims her throne, she glances at the bodyguard, her frown apologetic. “You’re not the princess anymore,” she tells him, though judging from his stoic expression, I doubt the man is too heartbroken by his demotion in status.
Something far more serious seems to be on his mind. Guilt? His dark eyes shift toward me and quickly dart away. “Okay,” he grunts, starting to rise to his feet.
“But,” Magda says, making him pause mid-motion. “You can be my royal henchman. Tiffy will play the princess. Now, henchman—” Her eyes take on a gleeful, calculated gleam. “Pour the tea!”
What unfolds next is an enthralling, heart-stopping game of royal politicking during which I die five times, and Ena has to robotically endorse the maniacal musings of his mad queen. All the while, Vadim hovers in the background, his expression guarded and yet completely decipherable.
He watches his daughter, his gaze soft with a love no one would deny. He smiles when she squeals in delight during the twists and turns of her “game,” and I think he’s spellbound by every machination of her imagination. But pretty soon, I’m equally as enthralled by him.
As much as I try to deny it, Irina’s petty jabsdidsting. They still do—and entirely not out of concern for Vadim and his potential motives either. He may want another child one day, but so do I.Badly,I’m starting to realize. More than I thought I ever would.
“Pay attention, Tiffany,” Magda scolds as the daylight wanes beyond the windows. Already, Vadim had to switch on an overhead lamp just to provide enough illumination for us to see by. “I’ve just declared you an illegitimate heir to the throne. You are banished from the kingdom, and my evil henchman has come to take you away forever! What do you do?”
I frown, thinking it over. Then I tap my chin. “I think I’ll ask, why I’ve been banished,” I decide.
But Magda’s expression falls flat. “Because you’re sick,” she says tonelessly. “And no one wants you anymore.”
I stiffen, my gaze darting around the room. Vadim’s vanished—presumably to make dinner—and Ena already managed to escape his role nearly an hour ago. There’s no one else left to witness the pain transforming her features, and I have a suspicion that our “game” isn’t so hypothetical anymore.
If it ever were, to begin with.
“Thequeenis saying this?” I say cautiously, twisting my pink teacup between my fingers.
She nods.
“Hmm. And what about the king?”
